Opinion pieces, travel articles, places and people; lots of poetry; commentary on current events and history and whatever else shows up on the radar. Articles have been numbered (since Sept. 2004). Go n-eiri an t-adh leat.

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

I loved her beyond all reasonand then she went and bloody well died on me.I stroll over to her grave and give it a kick.Bitch. Some cops with camerasbelieve they're hiding behind the headstonesbut that's all right. 'Sall all right, orright?I'll go over to Spain tomorrowwith my red and yellow bandanaand there I'll do what I cannado here. No more of this useless bleedin shite,I'll stay off the beer and act polite.I'll buy ... a hotel. Yeah, what the hell!Can I show you to your table, Mon Sewer?Yeah, I'd like that:a white dinner jacket, a red cummerbund,a smile with the new white choppers,a Heckler and Koch in my sock.I'll need to keep the Brits out, got no clarse,I'll dump them gobshites on their arse.Ah, Britain, she's been good to me all the samesince I left burnt-down blasted Croatiabut the face you see is not the facethat smiled up from my mother's kneewhen that dirty old brute she called my father,before he legged it, told me something crystal true:under the sun, my son, there is nothing new,kick 'em in the balls before they kick you.My father, the philosopher:a litle tear, my dear, runs down my nose,must be the cocaine, 95% pure,unlike the crap I sell to the punters,the ho's and shunters, the human manure.Voila, Madame! Ho ho, Monsieur!Is everyssing to your shatisfaction?Ahem, ahem, more Chateau d'Yquem?Buzzbuzz, hahaha, humhum.She's young and flushed, he's old and fat,an aristocrat: thus the world operatesand circulates, I know that. Watch me, chum.I could do this job with my eyes closed.